Twenty minutes later, a black Hummer pulled up in front of Cohen.
He walked over, opened the passenger door, and got in, feeling his frozen body begin to thaw slightly.
Bardle glanced at the specks of snow still lingering on his shoulders and frowned.
"Couldn't you have waited inside the security booth?"
He blinked.
"I'm socially anxious."
Bardle shot him a sidelong glance.
"Are you doing this on purpose?"
"No."
He gave a light hum, started the car, and asked, "Anything specific you feel like eating?"
"The restaurant from last night was really good."
"Alright."
Bardle took Cohen to the restaurant from the previous night.
After the meal, he drove him to a nearby shopping mall.
Full and warmed up, Cohen felt a bit drowsy.
Leaning his head against the window, he asked lazily, "What are we doing here?"
Bardle parked the car.
"Said I'd buy you a new hat today. Get out."
"Ah…"
He slowly unbuckled his seatbelt.
Bardle took him upstairs into a high-end menswear store.
He didn't just buy a hat; he bought Cohen a pile of clothes—sweaters, coats, shoes.
Almost anything he thought suited him, he told the sales to pack up without batting an eye.
Cohen didn't refuse either, just stood by smiling, watching the "domineering CEO" swipe his card.
The checkout clerk was beaming.
"Sir, would you like us to deliver these to your home?"
Bardle turned to Cohen.
"Didn't your brother make arrangements? Are you planning to stay in a hotel the whole time?"
He took out his phone, opened the chat with Kerry, and showed the address sent this morning to the clerk.
"Deliver it here, please."
The clerk noted it down and nodded.
"Certainly."
Bardle took a khaki felt hat from one of the packaged bags and placed it on Cohen's head.
Cohen tilted his head back slightly, letting him adjust the hat and tidy the strands of hair that were pressed down and partially covering his eyes.
Fine, broken laughter spilled from his eyes.
After adjusting the hat, Bardle even pressed down lightly on the crown.
The clerk nearby had a look on her face like she was witnessing something supremely sweet – Sure enough, handsome guys end up with other handsome guys!
After leaving the menswear store, Cohen tugged at Bardle's sleeve.
"Don't you think we seem like a couple now?"
Bardle looked at him sideways.
"How so?"
The corners of his mouth drooped.
"Do you put your arm around other people's shoulders? Get handsy with them? Buy clothes for them?"
Bardle curved his lips.
"What if I said yes?"
Cohen stopped walking, staring fixedly at him.
"Then you'd really be a jerk, and I wouldn't want to like you anymore."
He leaned in closer, smiling as he asked, "You like me? Since when? What do you like about me? My looks? Or my family background?"
Cohen gazed into his deep, unfathomable black eyes, utterly unable to discern what meaning lay behind the laughter within them.
He pressed his lips together tightly, suddenly turned, and walked towards the other direction.
Bardle was momentarily stunned, then strode after him, grabbing Cohen's wrist.
"Are you angry?"
Cohen broke free and walked towards the elevator bank, pressed the down button, and stood waiting expressionlessly for the elevator to arrive.
Bardle grabbed his arm again.
"I've never gotten handsy with anyone else, never taken anyone else shopping for clothes."
Cohen adjusted his emotions, looked up, and quirked the corner of his mouth.
"So you only bought them for me?"
But Bardle felt somewhat uncomfortable.
"I only bought them for you."
Cohen, in turn, grabbed hold of Bardle's sleeve.
"Then, do you like me even a little?"
Before he could speak, Cohen let go again, his expression flat, showing no trace of disappointment.
"You don't like me yet. You're just a little interested in me, that's all."
Bardle pressed his lips together slightly, the color in his eyes deepening.
Ding!
The elevator arrived.
Cohen let out a soft breath and said with a smile, "Let's go."
Bardle drove Cohen back to the hotel.
The entire way, neither spoke a word.
The atmosphere was somewhat stiff.
The car stopped in front of the hotel.
Cohen got out without a word.
Bardle subtly tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
Knock knock knock.
Cohen didn't head inside immediately.
He walked around and knocked on the car window.
Bardle's expression softened a bit as he rolled down the window.
Cohen bent down slightly, a clear, shallow smile in his eyes.
"You don't need to feel burdened. If you don't like me, you don't. Actually, I never really expected there to be a result. I'm happy enough that you're willing to humor me a little. Thanks for taking me shopping today. Drive carefully on your way back. Bye."
Bardle closed the window expressionlessly, stepped on the accelerator, and the car sped away.
The smile faded from Cohen's eyes.
He shoved his cold hands into his pockets and turned to enter the hotel.
...
That evening, after Kerry arrived in B City, he texted Cohen.
Cohen packed his suitcase and checked out of the hotel.
He had originally agreed to have dinner with Bardle, but after the noon incident, neither brought it up again, and the dinner plans fizzled out.
He dragged his suitcase out of the hotel and got into Kerry's car, which was waiting outside.
Over half an hour later, the two brothers arrived at a high-end apartment—a spacious, minimalist, and elegantly furnished 500-square-meter flat.
Kerry opened the door and told him the passcode.
"The villa is still being renovated. We'll stay here for now. I had a cleaner come today. Are those the clothes you just bought?"
He pointed to the large pile of shopping bags neatly placed on the living room sofa.
Cohen's mood dipped.
"Mhm."
"Put them away in your room later."
Kerry took off his overcoat, rolled up his sleeves, and headed to the kitchen.
"Pasta okay for tonight?"
"Mhm."
Kerry cooked two portions of pasta, and they sat at the dining table to eat.
Sensing his younger brother's distraction, he asked, "Chasing not going smoothly?"
Cohen looked down, picking at his pasta.
"I can't figure out what he really thinks of me. Maybe I'm too greedy. I get a little, and I want more."
"Heh. No one can read Bardle's mind. You dove in headfirst without really understanding him; you should have been prepared that it might not work out."
Kerry didn't want to lecture him too much.
"Hurry up and eat. Take some cold medicine after you're done; you sound a bit nasal."
He took small bites of his pasta.
"I went to see Mom this morning."
"Okay, then I won't call you when I go tomorrow."
"Oh…"
The next day, Cohen woke up early.
By the time he finished washing up and left his room, Kerry was at the entrance changing his shoes, ready to go out.
Hearing the noise, he looked over.
"You're up. There's breakfast in the kitchen, help yourself. I'm going to see Mom. I brought your drawing board and paints; they're in the big black case."
"Got it…"
After breakfast, Cohen dug out his drawing board, set it up by the large floor-to-ceiling window, and arranged his paints.
It took him a long time to start, but every time he sketched an outline, he was dissatisfied and tore the paper off.
A pile of crumpled paper balls already littered the floor.
"Tch…"
He put down his brush in frustration, ran a hand through his hair, stood up, and went back to his room.
Shortly after, he returned with a cigarette pack and a lighter, sat back down in front of the drawing board, deftly pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and brought it to his lips.
Smoke gradually began to wreathe around him.
After smoking two cigarettes and calming his mood, Cohen finally picked up his brush again—sketching, applying color…